Tattle Tales

November 26, 2007

Life, In Three

Filed under: Adventure,Career,me — tattler @ 7:38 pm

1) I’m having a birthday party this weekend.

2) My boss suddenly has it in for me.

3) I’ll be in South Beach the rest of the week.

Tattler, out —


November 19, 2007


Filed under: Boyfriend,me — tattler @ 8:05 pm

Bateman and I were sitting on the couch watching football the other day, arms and legs all intertwined.  “Hey, you know what I was thinking?” he asked, and I could hear in his voice that I was going to like what he had to say.


“It was around this time last year that I came to live with you.”  He was right.  Last year, at this time, Bateman moved into my apartment to do a six week long “away elective” at a hospital here known for its neurology department.  I consider it a turning point in our relationship — after a year of long distance, seeing each other every third weekend, we were suddenly sharing a shoe box for 42 straight days.

“We went food shopping that first night and made tuna and a large salad.  And you said, ‘Don’t tell anyone I ate salad for dinner.’  It wasn’t manly enough.”

After his parents unloaded his stuff — his white coat, dress shirts on hangers in my closet, a giant duffel bag at the foot of my bed — the two of us went to the supermarket.  I didn’t know what boys ate.  He kept peering into the shopping cart, shaking his head, and proclaiming that he was going to starve over the next month.  “You’ve never lived with a dude before, have you?”  No, I hadn’t.  But I suddenly felt very grown-up.

He nodded now.  “And bruschetta.”

Heh. I’d forgotten about the bruschetta.

It hit me last night as I was washing dishes before bed.  Bruschetta.  He remembered the details.  He remembered what we ate for dinner the first night we “moved in” together.  Over those next six weeks, I would learn what boys eat; he would learn that girls can like basketball AND America’s Next Top Model.   I learned he can be a Momma’s Boy sometimes; he learned that I still stomp my feet when I’m angry.  I learned how to cook; he learned to like tofu.

Those six weeks.  They weren’t all good.  But they were meaningful.  They changed us.  And here we are.

November 18, 2007

Crazy Hours

Filed under: Boyfriend,me,Medicine — tattler @ 11:54 am

Bateman is sleeping.

It’s almost noon. I’m getting a little antsy about having to TIPTOE around an apartment roughly the size of a dorm room. I don’t know how he’s managed to sleep through the utter racket I’ve been making all morning. The boy can sleep through anything.

He’s working nights in the ER. (Tangent: It’s actually called the ED. Apparently the doctors there want everyone to know that they’re more than just a room, they’re an entire DEPARTMENT. So for the sake of being correct, they’d rather refer to themselves as erectile dysfunction doctors.)

So he’s in the thick of stitching up cuts and monitoring heart attack patients just as I’m putting on my pajamas and brushing my teeth. He has “lunch” while I’m in the middle of some crazy dream about being on the run from the law and hiding out in a Chinese restaurant (don’t ask). And he’s getting into bed while I’m frantically searching for my keys and half-watching the weather report on NY1.

Such are the joys of dating a doctor. While I’d love to spend all day in bed with him today, I know that I also need to fall asleep tonight at a Reasonable Hour in order to function at work tomorrow.

No deep thoughts here; I’m just writing to write. To pass time. Cause I’m bored. If I’m lucky, my boy will be awake before 2 p.m. And then we’ll get to spend three hours together before he has to report to the ED.

At least he only has two more weeks of this.

November 14, 2007

Birthday Angst

Filed under: Friends,me — tattler @ 10:04 pm

PEOPLE, it’s WARM today.  Miracle of miracles!  So, because it’s warm, I’m happy.  (I’m not a complicated girl.)

I’ve got a problem though, and it involves my birthday next month.  You see, I hate throwing parties for myself.  It’s a lot of stress.  I always have this fear that I’ll throw a party and no one will show up.  Or, worse than that, TWO people will show up (probably Bateman’s friends) and I’ll not only feel like a loser, but there will be WITNESSES to my loserdom.

OK, I’ll admit I’m a little neurotic about this.  I had a party last year that ended up being a big success.  Good turnout, people were having fun, there was cross-social-group hook-ups.  But already one of my best friends said she’ll be out of town BOTH weekends bookending my birthday this year, and it just seems like a bad omen.

I actually DID have a party once where no one showed up.  My senior year of high school.  Well, I don’t know if it were a true party.  I invited four of my friends to come over and shoot pool on my parents’ new pool table.  They seemed really into it, and we picked a weekend and everything.  And then, somehow, it fell apart at the last minute and none of them could make it, and for the life of me, I can’t remember why I didn’t just RESCHEDULE, instead of letting it haunt me for the rest of my days.  I don’t know.  Maybe it’s character building.  I had a party and no one showed up.  I mean, people.  This is the stuff TV dramas are made of.

God, high school birthdays.  I don’t know about you, but in my high school, it was tradition to buy your friends flowers on their birthday.  Nothing fancy, just a $5, paper-wrapped bouquet from the bodega near the subway station.  I used to get about four or five bouquets, which was OK.  Respectable.  But the popular (cough, beautiful) girls got twice as many.  It was a badge of honor to lug these things around school, from class to class, and you’d simultaneously have to feel bad and incredibly jealous of how difficult it was to balance 10 bouquets on the escalators.  (Yes, escalators — this is Manhattan, remember?  We build UP.)  I giggle now when I think of my mom trying to find enough vases for all my flowers.  But back then, it was scarring.  I mean, you could see how getting two bouquets (thereby branding yourself as a Birthday Girl) could be worse than getting NONE, right?

I guess these are the experiences that stay with you.  Even at the not-so-tender age of almost-26.

November 13, 2007

Yes, You’re Better Than Me

Filed under: Friends — tattler @ 7:15 pm

My former junior high BFF only IMs me these days to brag. She’s getting an MD/PhD from Ivy League Medical School, and so of course, she’s very interested in what Bateman is up to.

But I was polite last night. When she tells me about getting published in National Peer-Reviewed Scientific Journal, I congratulate her. Then, to make conversation, I ask her if she has to do a traditional residency after getting her combo degree. She does, and proceeds to list which medical centers have the best pathology programs (pathology, figures.)

“But I might just want to come back to New York,” she says.

“Well,” I type, “it can’t hurt to apply all over. Besides, at the end of the day, the Match computers pretty much make the decision for you.” Notice, people, how I don’t mention my boyfriend. At all.

She starts typing furiously, words rapidly appearing in the little IM box. “Oh, I’m in a different boat than Bateman, since I’m coming from Ivy League Medical School. We basically pick where we want to go.” Line break. “Out of 120 people in last year’s graduating class, only four people didn’t get their top choice and they got their second instead.” Line break. “I hear it’s rough coming from other schools.”

Other schools. A different boat than Bateman.

And I didn’t even mention Bateman. Bateman who got exactly what he wanted with a residency right here in super-competitive Manhattan. Even from (GASP) a state school!

I told Bateman what she said. I know I shouldn’t have — not to hurt his feelings. I was just so … shocked. “She kills me,” I said. “What is she implying?”

“Why don’t you goad her some more and see if she’ll come right out and call me stupid.”

“I’ll scratch her eyes out before I let her call you stupid.”

“Aww, babe.”

And that’s how it came to be that Bateman and I put our ridiculous fight behind us. How I forgot that just last week I was all take-it-or-leave-it about my relationship. No one — and I mean NO ONE — is going to insult my baby and get away with it. Bitch.

November 12, 2007


Filed under: Adventure,Boyfriend,Shopping — tattler @ 7:13 pm

First things first: I found a dress. Little, black, cocktail, all the important things. The thing is, shopping for dresses these days is absolutely, downright, horrifically depressing. I’m short and wear a size 4, which means that most normal dresses (like that cute Nicole Miller that was on sale) just don’t hang right. Usually they’re too big on top and too long on the bottom. When I’m skinny I can get away with a size 2, but these days I need a 4 petite. And petite clothes are just about the ugliest thing ever. If I were 60, I’d STILL be too young to be wearing three-quarters of that stuff.

Anyway, here’s the dress I wanted:

And here’s the one I bought:

OK, so that was the dress. Moving on. I spent a good chunk of Saturday fighting with my boyfriend. So much for not being able to provoke him. He was yelling alright. And he said something nasty and uncalled for that made me cry.

I’ve been so out of sorts lately. I know it’s singularly selfish. People would kill to have my life. I mean, it’s hard to live in New York City (make it here, make it anywhere, and so on), but by all accounts I’m succeeding marvelously. I’ve got the boyfriend, the job, the apartment in the West Village (on the horizon), and hell, I’m even invited to some fancy schmany black tie dinner Friday night. And yet? I don’t know. I haven’t been myself.

“I’ve been really cranky lately,” I told Bateman as we were walking to the gym on Saturday.

“What’s with that?”

“I don’t know. I’m just in a funk.”

I think fundamentally I just HATE waiting. I think if I were LIVING with Bateman already, I wouldn’t be second-guessing myself every other day. I’d be comfortably enjoying our routine. It’s when I don’t see him for long stretches of time that I get antsy. He’s working nights, I’m traveling all over the country. It’s NOT conducive to maintaining a relationship.

I stayed over at his place last night. By tacit agreement, we didn’t mention our fight. But I couldn’t help alluding to it — part of it — at bedtime. “What if I get a big promotion down the line?” I asked him as we were lying in bed. “What if they want to bring me over to their London headquarters?”

“I can practice in London,” he said.

Then we had sex. Now I don’t know WHAT I’m feeling. Well, I’m thinking that a promotion in London would be pretty damn cool. Especially if Bateman were willing to come with me.

November 10, 2007

More Important Things

Filed under: me,Shopping — tattler @ 12:48 pm

Enough waxing philosophical.  I have to go to a black tie work-related dinner on Friday night and I DON’T HAVE A DRESS.  So I guess I have to go shopping.  Did I mention I hate shopping?  I own, like, one dress.  And it’s for summer.

But it’ll be fun to have an excuse to buy a new dress.  Especially a fancy one.

Hello, My Name Is Cliche

Filed under: Adventure,me — tattler @ 12:27 pm

It dawned on me today that maybe I’m actually getting cold feet about moving in together.  About The Future.  Right now I feel like I’m staring down a path toward Happily Ever After with someone I could see myself marrying, and I HATE it.  I’m sick of staying in New York, but it’s more than just this city.  It’s me and the fear that if I stay here, I’ll never get that adventure I’m pining for.  It’s like my mom said: Bateman is very close to his family, and he won’t want to move so far away from them.  And if we have kids, well, then I’ll want to be close to my family so they can help out.

And I’m listening to this going, NOOOOOOOO … I don’t WANT THAT.  That is precisely what I DON’T want out of life.  I want to live in San Francisco, and London, and maybe even some place crazy like Hong Kong.  And I kind of feel like I’m on a path that could split both ways.  See where my career takes me, or give it all up to support Bateman and his residency here in Hometown, USA, even if that Hometown does happen to be New York City (A+ in awesome, etc. etc. etc.)

November 9, 2007

Big Girls Don’t Cry

Filed under: Boyfriend,me — tattler @ 7:52 pm

I tried to pick a fight with my boyfriend last night. It was over an old favorite, SKIING. It was silliest thing ever. See, we each have our favorite “dream” cities. Mine is San Francisco (no kidding!) His is Denver. Anyway, I’ve been talking up SF non-stop (no kidding!) so he sent me the weather forecast for Denver, where it’s apparently, well, warm. You know, just to be cute. People, that’s ALL he did. He sent me a link to weather.com (yes, that very one.) And I? Of sound mind, went ballistic. I accused him of rubbing in the fact that he’s spending his single, solitary, lone vacation next year on a SKI TRIP in the Rockies instead of doing anything else that includes me.

How could you possibly think you could ever endear me to a place when you abandon me to go skiing there every winter and to hell with your girlfriend who only gets to see you a lousy 36 hours a week! I’ll NEVER like Denver, NEVER EVER!”

OK, that’s a little exaggerated. But you get the point. I was livid. I think he really regrets sending me that link. To the, uh, weather forecast. In Denver.

Lucky for me (maybe), it’s very hard to provoke my boyfriend. He does not get provoked easily. He’s always cool, calm, and collected, and only once in the past two years have I ever heard him yell at me. And it took A LOT to get him to do that. I was really asking for it. The thing is — not that I like to be yelled at — but sometimes I just want him to call me out on my bad behavior, and not try to change the subject.

So I tried to pick a fight but all he did was apologize for sending me that (cough) insensitive forecast.

Do I feel justified? I don’t know what I’ve been feeling lately, to be honest. I’ve been in a perpetual mood. One minute I’m rolling my eyes and acting all huffy because the lady next to me on the train is cracking her gum every two seconds and god its so hot in here can’t she just STOP and the next I’m crying in the corner of the subway car, not caring who sees me.

I’ve cried twice on the subway now. TWICE. For no good reason.

In fact, I have EVERY reason to be happy. Last year was different. Last year I had every reason to be miserable. I hated my job, three of my best friends had left New York and I couldn’t just, you know, replace them, my boyfriend was long distance, and my sister was going through some devastating medical issues. None of that is true anymore. Everything is good, and all I still seem to do is cry cry cry. About … ? No one knows. I don’t even know. So how can I expect Bateman to understand?

November 8, 2007

The Other Side of the Story

Filed under: Adventure,Boyfriend,me — tattler @ 8:21 pm

You didn’t know me last year when every week I was rip-roaringly MAD at Bateman about one thing or another. God, was I angry. All. the. damn. time. I remember once I was so furious at him (over sushi, of all things) that I had a temper tantrum in bed and kicked all the sheets on the floor.

And why?

To be honest, I really don’t know. (Cough, anger management issues, cough.) Uncertainty in our relationship, I think. It was a tough time. We had been dating for over a year, but the entire time long distance. There were still four months before Match Day, when fourth year medical students find out where they’ll be doing their residencies. Bateman could have been headed to Denver, or Philadelphia, or Stony Brook, and I wasn’t ready to move to any of those places. And we hardly ever talked about Feelings or The Future.

Anyway, things got better when we found out that he would be right here in Manhattan. I cried when he told me. I’m not even kidding. I was standing on the corner of 54th and 3rd during my lunch break when my cell phone rang. It was Bateman. I tried to congratulate him, but I couldn’t speak. I had to hang up almost immediately, and then I ran into Barnes & Noble and sobbed hysterically for 10 minutes in the SAT review section. I wasn’t even sure WHY I was crying. It wasn’t happiness, or sadness, or any other feeling I could identify. It was just EMOTION. I was crying tears of emotion.

He called me again later that night; he was celebratory, probably a little drunk. This time I found my voice. “I’m so excited for you,” I gushed. Sincerely.

“I’m excited for us,” he said. And suddenly I knew that us would be OK.

But now, eight months later, I’m getting angry again, and I think it’s Fear. This moving in together thing. I’m not going to pretend that the ONLY thing I’m feeling is jubilation. There’s Fear involved. Uncertainty. Emotion. Feelings that aren’t always easily identified.

Maybe that’s why I’m suddenly consumed with the idea of Moving Away From New York.

But I’m not going to let these feelings get the best of me. Or, at least, I’m going to try.

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