The Not-So Great Debate

A few days ago I found myself on the receiving and giving (Full-disclosure) end of rather daft argument with Not-so-Starving-Artist (NsSA), the object of my affection.

It began innocently enough with a text message about an impending vacation back home. The last few months in the Lone Star State have been needle in the eye hellacious and I’ve been in desperate need of a sweet escape.

NsSA and I haven’t seen each other since Christmas and I,  to my surprise and delight miss him terribly. Like really, really miss him. I miss the way he looks at me when I break out into a re-mix of my favorite 80’s songs. I miss his laugh and they way he pauses before he asks a question he already knows the answer to. “Whoa .. Wait — what?” I miss his strong-like-bull hands and his freakishly hot body warming my freakishly cold one at 2am. I miss it all.

A few weeks ago we’d discussed possible dates for spending QT and decided that he would make the trip out towards the end of February. Still a ways away, but better than nothing. In the mean time, we’ve kept in touch regularly via the tele and text. And to my surprise the occasional e-mail. NsSA gives great text by the way; rarely coloring inside the lines. #GoodStuff.

Fast-forward to last week. After spending three straight days in the belly of the beast nightclubs about town, I was fucking exhausted completely depleted and not in the best of moods putting it mildly. I believe the lowest point was drinking tea at Denny’s, my dive diner guilty pleasure at 2AM. No. Actually, the lowest point was having my ass fondled by an inebriated 20 year old named Rocco from New Orleans that smelled like under age drinking and abortion. And I wish I were making that up.

Still, Denny’s allowed time for the reconciling of thoughts – which I desperately needed. It was in Denny’s that I realized an accepted that my life is out of balance right now. I’m working over 100 hours a week (Yes, you read that correctly) on a job that I loathe and for what? To get groped by some Jersey Shore Reject. Negative. That night in Denny’s I wrote a mental note-to-self. **Go.Home.** Literally, go all the way home. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect as my nanna was turning 84, an ideal weekend for family time too.

But I digress … NsSA and I haven’t had much time to chat lately, as our schedules vary drastically and so we spent most of the week communicating via text. This night – my text started innocently enough as I recall it. I was sitting in front of my computer skimming flights on one of those, You call it flight sites when I sent the first message.

Me: Hey, I’m thnkng abt cmng hm nxt wk (2nd-7th) … What does your schd lk like as it reltes to hvng time to hang out? I’m asking b/c I don’t want to assume anythng …

NsSA: The end of the month would be better. I’m going out-of-town Friday and won’t return until Sunday.

I see red. Did he just ask me to not come home until the end of the month …

Me: **Blank Stare** Don’t worry about it then. {Insert additional bitchy burn text here} Finish with biting comment about not discussing spending time together as it relates to hanging out with me again. #killshot.

NsSA: Have you ever been accused of overreacting?

More Red. Did he really just ask me that? In my mind he is completely discrediting my feelings.

The Reality: Several days later, I now see this is where things took a drastic turn for the worst. And for the record, I’ll admit — it does read a bit dramatic now. Keep reading …

Me: How would you know how I’m reactng in 160 characters or less. What’s the appropriate response (At this point, I’m on the phone having a single ladies meeting with my bestie about the aforementioned text re: “over reacting?”)

Unfortunately, I don’t remember any exchanges after that one. I couldn’t seem to build a bridge and get over his comment about “Over reacting.” In the midst of my conversation, I rushed to judgment and deleted every text message we’d exchanged. Yes, I was sleep deprived and on a roll … what can I say?

In all fairness, and after 3 days of playing the tape back in my head, a much-needed day of rest and the perspective of my guy bestie – I discovered NsSA was right. Yes, he was right and I  went fucking nuts may have overeacted – a tad.

I can’t imagine what kind of stare he may have had on the receiving end of my rants. Things got Pretty Ugly, pun intended. As ugly as they could be, for a couple of humans who spend most of their time laughing through the day and night.

Adding insult to injury, NsSA was departing for vacation abroad the following morning which left no time for an actual conversation about the series of unfortunate texts. The following morning as fate would have it, I awoke to a voicemail from a woman I’d shared several clients with a couple of years ago. She was looking for a person to head up a new division of the company in my home and neighboring states. The position would be based in – you guessed it, THE CITY I JUST MOVED FROM!!!!! What are the odds ??

So now, after I’ve gone bat shit crazy  exchanged unpleasantries with NsSA, this phenomenal opportunity is thrust my way and the first person I want to call is him. So I did. Unfortunately, he answered the call — ending the call .”I’m on my way to the airport, I’ll have to call you when I get settled” he grumbled.

“I have REALLY exciting news” I squealed.

“I’m on my way to the airport, I’ll have to call you when I get settled” he snipped.

“Uhmm, OK.” He may have heard in my voice – or not, but I was a little sad. I’d just received this amazing news and I wanted to share it with him. I couldn’t help but wonder, if the residual energy from the night before had spoiled our morning after.

A few hours passed – and still no call from NsSA. I wasn’t hovering over the phone, but when I received a text from him around lunch I remembered that he hadn’t called me back. The saga continued…

“Hello Tejas” he text.

Me: Glad you made it safely.

NsSA: I called you back …

Me: Blah blah — can we talk now, is that possible? {At this point, I’m debating whether to share my news}

NsSA: I’ll have to call you from LA

Me: Nevermind, have a safe flight and I’ll talk to you when you get back. Don’t worry about it. {By now, I’m pretty much over talking and texting -ESPECIALLY since he never called me back.}

The Reality: NsSA had left a voice mail for me at 9:30 in the morning, from the airport as he’d originally promised. Unfortunately, I have the And didn’t listen to the message until later on in the evening. I listened to his voicemail and I wanted to burst into tears.

I’d spent the entire morning, most of the afternoon and the beginning of my evening being pissed at someone I adore over something he didn’t even do. Or not do. The point is – this argument (Can I even call it that?), real or imagined, was ruining everything.

Suddenly it donned on me. I wasn’t engaged in a great debate with NsSA. I was arguing with myself and NsSA was caught in the cross hairs. There I was working 120 hours a week at a gig I can’t stand. Living off coconut and chocolate crunch bars … Splitting my time between beau tox parties (yes, that would be a botox party for the boyyssss and a few girls) and Tween Clubs in the biles of humanity. Stressed out beyond recognition and potentially unrecognizable to one of the people I care about the most.

Even though we’re just “a couple of humans” – my saying, not his — NsSA has/is slowly evolved/evolving into my person. And as I type this, I’m not sure if he even knows. But I want to share things with him … I don’t mind telling him about my Big Crazy Southern Family or singing “Private Dancer” to him or sending texting him in en francais about soup and salad and faux life partner socks (you’d have to be there to understand). The point is I’m distraught. I thought writing about it would make me feel better, and yet – I actually don’t.

Blogging is so much easier than real life … Ugh! I usually try to end things on a positive note, but things are feeling pretty bleak right now. The sad thing is — I’d usually ask him for his advice. Hoping he’d respond in 6-8 bars of rhyme and reason. In the mean time I’ll settle for a cease-fire in our not-so great debate … I’ll be sure to keep you posted.




I'm sorry, were you talking to me??


About The.Pretty.One

"I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.” - Carry Bradshaw The Pretty One is the youngest daughter of a former 70s pageant queen and her first husband, a wealthy financier. A former debutante and southern belle, this Steel Magnolia is anything but. A visionary, she is the owner and creative mind behind a successful boutique communications and event firm. But what I really want to do is dance ... and blog.
Gallery | This entry was posted in Break-Up, crazy people, Fate, Love, Notes To Self, Relationships, Text Message, WTF. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to The Not-So Great Debate

  1. very good put up, i actually love this website, keep on it

  2. You need to participate in a contest for the most effective blogs on the web. I’ll recommend this site!

  3. Free Porn says:

    Oh my goodness! an amazing article dude. Thanks Nevertheless I am experiencing situation with ur rss . Don’t know why Unable to subscribe to it. Is there anyone getting identical rss downside? Anyone who is aware of kindly respond. Thnkx

  4. says:

    AWW hope you guys have worked it out right now. I found that wigging out to a friend first when you feel the anger rising can give you some perspective before responding. I make an excuse like ummm let me call you right back the house is on fire. 😉

    • LOL @ Angela – Unfortunately, I fear things are coming to an end. Dylan once said, sometimes it’s better to burn out than to fade away … I’m inclined to agree. Thank you all for your comments.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s