Stephanie Louise Smith

Can Someone Get Me A Cupcake, Please?

Boys are adorable. Boys trail off their sentences in an appealing way. Boys bring a knapsack to work. Boys get haircuts from their roommate, who “totally knows how to cut hair.” Boys can pack up their whole life in a duffel bag and move to Brooklyn for a gig if they need to. Boys have “gigs.” Boys are broke. And when they do have money, they spend it on a trip to Colorado to see a music festival. Boys don’t know how to adjust their conversation when they’re talking to their friends or to your parents.

Until I was thirty, I only dated boys, as far as I can tell. I’ll tell you why. Men scared the shit out of me.

Men know what they want. Men make concrete plans. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn’t on the floor. Men tip generously. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men go to the dentist. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they’re thinking of kissing you… Men know what they want and they don’t let you in on their inner monologue, and that is scary.

  Mindy Kaling on boys vs. men- Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (via wordsthat-speak)

(via pinkdreamsandotherthings)

My Happiness

I will ease-up on the posts soon, but had one more thing I really needed to get off my chest…

This quote has been with me a lot lately. They say (and who is they?) that you can often pick the people who have been hurt the most by the way they excessively either pre-emptively strike to prevent getting hurt or raise hell when they have been hurt. I’m one of those people.

With the situation I found myself in - even though I know and accept that half of the blame for my pain rests squarely on my shoulders - my instinct isn’t to peacefully walk away and accept what has occurred, but rather to lash-out and inflict the pain that I’m experiencing onto others. I want to burn cities to the ground, wage wars, and create hell on earth for those who have hurt me. For the most part I contain it, but it is an almost constannt fight during the worst of times to do so.

It’s not okay. Regardless of what sort of mess I may have found myself in, the person I created it with was my friend, someone I claim to care about, and yet rather than being happy for his happiness I want him to hurt like I have. Why is that? Can you truly claim to care about someone when you want to punish them for pursuing a happiness that doesn’t involve you?

Hence why I’ve been thinking about this quote a lot. I’ve been reflecting on the mess that I lived through last year with Big Red and reminding myself that no matter how much someone hurts me, my actions (whatever they may be) need to come from a place that isn’t motivated by hatred or pain. The man who hurt me was a friend before all this went down, we were partners in crime in the fallout, and just because I didn’t get my own way shouldn’t mean that I am allowed to make his life harder. Regardless of whatever hurt I’m experiencing.

As much of a struggle as it is, I’m trying to tell myself that when you care about someone you put their happiness first and whether you understand their motivations or reasons is irrelevant, you wish them the best and if the pain of seeing them happy in a scenario you aren’t happy with is too great, well then you gently walk away and leave them to their happiness.

I’m trying to do this. I’m trying really hard. It seems a never-ending fight to be a better person but I’m taking it one day at a time and reminding myself over and over again that my part now in all this is to accept that he was never meant to be mine and to do so with an open heart and no ill will. I really hope I manage that this time as the mess from eighteen months ago was not my finest moments… I care about him so much that as much as it will hurt, I’d like us to reach a stage where we can sit down together, laugh like we do, and be okay with him choosing a path that isn’t shared with me.

Emotional posts: over.

The Interview

Given that I signed a confidentiality document I can’t talk a lot about the interview itself, but what I can tell you is that I have further evidence that the universe likes to use me as it’s chew toy. But not in a bad way, in an affectionate way like my dog, Bronson, does with anything he finds that makes him think, “Hey I’d like to bite that!”.

Brief version if you’re not up for the read: it went okay.

Long version:
Early flight to Sydney sitting next to the most argumentative mother/daughter combo I’ve ever met in my life. These chicks did not stop arguing the entire way. I’d like to say that it was a fair argument, but even though I don’t speak Mandarin I did get the definite sense that the mother was kicking some serious daughter butt. It’s okay, I only slept for two hours, I’d love for you to have a domestic dispute in the seat next to me while I’m trying to catch a few more precious z’s…

Get to Sydney and transitioned straight back into City Stephanie. I swear that I really do have two personalities: Small-Town Stephanie and Show-Me-To-Prada Stephanie. As comfortable as I was back there in the city, I was having some serious doubts about what I was potentially signing on for. You know the story: I’m still very much hurting over someone and very much in denial about the fact that they are never coming back. Making this move will signal the end of that and a dive into unchartered waters. It’s something I know I can do, but I would be an idiot not to have some hesitations about such a massive change this late in the game and also committing to potentially never seeing that man ever again.

Get to the interview and take a seat at a table of people who all seem much younger than myself and a guy (not jailbait and at most only 7 years younger. Gulp) lunges (I’m not even exaggerating) across the table to shake my hand.

Back story time: my friends Z and Sam have invented a future husband for me. His name is Doctor Tom. He is my idea of perfect in every way (according to them), and when I start to have hesitations about whether I will go if I get in, they like to throw Doctor Tom in the mix and insist that my future happiness, in fact all happiness and the fate of the world, rests on Doctor Tom and I falling madly in love and having lots of babies. Obviously via C-section as I have hooha-tearing-related anxiety and am yet to be convinced that I won’t regret it if my hooha is stretched beyond repair.

That’s an overshare and I apologise. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. The boy was lunging across the table…

Floppy-haired surfer-type with dimples, a cheeky smile, and blue eyes is holding out his hand for me to shake… You know, basically my kryptonite… And what does he say?

"Hi, I’m Tom. I’m a first year."

StephanieChewToyMode: Engaged.

Joking. Laughing. Questions. Pep talks. Flirting. Smiling. More laughing. I’m sure there are other people in the room but we aren’t talking to them. Then it’s interview time and Doctor Tom leads my group in for the roasting.

Seven six-minute interviews later and I’m done. I really have no idea how I went with any of it, except to say it was a sad moment having to say goodbye to Doctor Tom and really nice to hear him say “hopefully I’ll see you in February.” It’ll be about six weeks before we find out and to be honest, I’m not feeling it this year. They interviewed 300 for 120 spots and the timing isn’t ideal… I think that maybe I’ll be doing the process over next year, but I know that that school was my first choice and it will still be next year if I do need to reapply. I also know that if I get in, as much as I pretend I’m hesitating, you don’t say no to an offer to that school for that degree.

So today, whilst battling the flu, I’m also giggling at Doctor Tom coming to life for a few hours and also really appreciative of the distraction and smiles he gave me at a time when I was wasting energy on someone who doesn’t want me. If nothing else Doctor Tom was an awesome reminder that even though right now it feels like I’ll never care about anyone or be as happy as I was with this guy, that’s not the case. If this one doesn’t want me then that’s cool because my Doctor Tom is out there somewhere and let me tell you he is divine. He also helped me to focus on the task at hand and I know I would’ve struggled with that had there not been something to take my mind off my latest predicament/fuck-up.

So thank you, Future Doctor Tom, and now the waiting begins…

And I’m drowning in my flu. So unhappy it has hit in time for the flight home, but so happy it held out for my interview.

Let’s hope I sleep this flight away…

Med School Or Nah….

It’s done. Now we wait. Bet I’m the only person you know who would go to their med school interview and meet a guy. He gave me a nice (non-sexual!! Don’t be dirty!) distraction for an hour before my interview. A whole hour of not thinking of that other guy. Bliss. I’m sure he will be back in my thoughts soon enough though.

Six weeks and we know. Creating a Plan B in the meantime…